Past Forgotten
by nicol-leoraine
Summary: COMPLETE Something happened to Steve when he was ten. The discovery of a dead boy brings back many memories.


Past Forgotten  
  
Diagnosis Murder fan fiction by Nicol Leoraine © 2004. August.  
  
It was a hard case, one which brought back many bad emotions. The kid was a son of some pretty rich senator. He was ten years old and was kidnapped from the school. At least, the police thought that, because it was the last place, where the boy was seen. Not so long after, the father get a phone call, instruing him to prepare a milion dollar high ransom. The father did as he was told, waiting for the kidnapper´s next call. The police didn´t interfere, because nobody called them. Only when the father didn´t receive any word about the ransom, did he call them. It was twenty four hours later, and the boy was twelve hours dead.  
  
It became a federal case. Nobody will mess with a senator, nevertheless his kid. But they didn´t know, where the boy was. The senator talked in the medias, he asked for help, promised money for any helpful information.  
  
In the end, it was Steve Sloan, who found the body. The police station was on alert for any news. Steve was ready to get out and ask some of his informators about the senator´s son, when the ringing of the phone stopped him. A little apprehensive, he picked up the phone and listened to an unfamiliar voice rasping out the location of the body.  
  
"Who are you?" he asked.  
  
"Not important. I don´t wan´t any rewards. Just remove that thing." Whit that, the caller hanged up, and Steve looked at the phone with dismay. The noise around him soon brought him from the stupor, and Steve grabbed for his car keys.  
  
The body was there. Shattered and beaten up as the boy was, the indentification would´ve been the main thing on the mind of the Federal agents, if there only wasn´t the cast on the boys right hand, where he broke his wrist two weeks ago. Then there was the clothing, he was found in. The initials of senator´s son. Steve blinked hard, when the federal´s asked him for the tenth time, who called him and why. Steve answered the questions, tired and with a growing headache, as he was bothered by some nagging feeling in the stomach.  
  
His return home was delayed for the late hours. Putting the key into the lock, Steve was feeling totally clapped. Seeing his fathers car and the light in the windows of a living room, he sighed and walked in.  
  
Mark Sloan, the Chief-intern of medicine in the Community General, was also tired after the long shift he pulled at the hospital. But hearing the news in the radio, he knew, that someone from Steve´s department discovered the body. He just didn´t know who. The tired appearance of his son answered this question, and Mark frowned, his brow furrowing with worry.  
  
"Hi, dad," Steve sat himself on the couch, next to his father, and closed his eyes, groaning.  
  
"Steve, I heard the news. Did... it was you, who...?"  
  
"Yeah. Someone called me. Havn´t had a clue as to who it was - maybe just some homeless guy, who found him. I don´t know, it just..."  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
"It wasn´t me in that hole, dad. The boy... he was really messed up. Really messed up," Steve rubbed his temples, not seeing the worried expression of his father.  
  
"But I should be used to it, by now. I am, after all, a cop from homicide."  
  
"Nobody can get used to it, son. If you would, it would be wrong."  
  
Steve shook his head and stood up, stretching his neck. Mark watched him with a concern.  
  
"Stiff neck?"  
"Hmpf, headache. It was a hell, talk with the federals. And tomorrow morning, I have another meeting with them. At least, the press didn´t get my name.They didn´t say, who found the body, did they?"  
  
"No, just that some anonym called to the police station."  
  
"Great. I think, I´m gonna catch some shut eye."  
  
"That´s a good idea. You wan´t something for that headache?"  
  
"Nah, I´ll take some aspirin. Uhm... why are you up at this time, by the way?"  
  
"Couldn´t sleep. I wanted to hear, what happened."  
  
"Didn´t get much details from me, huh?" smiled Steve a little. Mark returned the grin and shook his head.  
  
"It can wait. I should go to sleep too, otherwise I´ll sleep over, and nothing can please Jesse more than if I get late to work."  
  
"Good night, dad,"  
  
"Good night, son." Both Sloans get to their bedrooms, Steve took a quick shower and some aspirin, then lay down and shut his eyes, trying to fall asleep. It didn´t take much time, when the first images appeared and Steve shifted uncomfortably. As the images became quicker and more vivid, Steve began to trash on his bed, moaning and groaning. After a while, his moans became louder.  
  
"No... go away... dad, help me! Dad!"  
  
Mark Sloan wasn´t sleeping any better that night. Something, that Steve said, brought up memories, that Mark rather not think about again. He was turning in his bed, when he heard a noise. Unmoving, he listened for any other sound. He didn´t wait long, though. Another moan, and he heard his sons pleas. Jolting from the bed, forgetting for a moment, that Steve isn´t a child anymore, Mark ran down the stairs, to the bedroom of his son.  
  
"No... let me go, please. I won´t tell them... I didn´t see your face... please... let me go," pleaded Steve in his sleep and Mark was returned to that days, not so long after the death of his wife, when his only son was taken away from him for a long four days.  
  
"Steve... come on, wake up," urged him Mark and touched his shoulder. Steve recoiled from the touch, grabbing his head in a futile act of defense. Mark was shocked, but then resumed his effort to wake up his son.  
  
"Steve! Lieutenant, wake up! It´s an order!"  
  
This helped. Steve bolted up, gasping for breath and disoriented, looked into the air. He flinched at Marks touch, but then recognised his father.  
  
"Dad?" he asked and started to shake, as if he was cold. Mark grabbed a blanket and covered him with it, while taking note of the racing pulse under his touch.  
  
"Breath, slowly. Come on, slow, deep breaths. Take in, let out," instructed him Mark and Steve listened to the soothing words, gradually relaxing.  
  
"T-thanks, dad. I... sorry, that I woke you up." apologized Steve and composing himself, rouse from the bed and get straight to the shower. Mark waited.  
  
"Nightmares?" he asked, as Steve emerged from the bathroom, drying his wet hair with a towel.  
  
"I think," was the answer.  
  
"You think?" Mark was puzzled, so Steve tried to explain.  
  
"I felt like... that boy. Scared and hurt. I don´t know, dad. It seemed so real, like I´d been there. In the dark, alone. Thirsty and hungry, not having enough oxygen. And scared like hell."  
  
Mark couldn´t look at his son anymore. While Steve tried to tell him his feelings and get it out, Mark could only think about the past and remember his own fear. Eventually, Steve looked at his father and stopped his musing.  
  
"Dad? What´s it?" he asked, puzzled by his father´s behaviour. Mark looked up, his face was sullen and eyes betrayed sorrow.  
  
"You don´t remember, what happened, when you´re ten?"  
  
Steve´s eyes clouded with emotions.  
  
"Mom died."  
  
"Yeah, but I don´t talk about that, Steve."  
  
"No?" Mark shook his head.  
  
"Seven months after your mothers funeral, you were kidnapped."  
  
"W-what?" stuttered Steve and paled.  
  
"You rather sit down, son," suggested Mark and began pace the small room, instead of his son.  
  
"I don´t remember."  
  
"No, I didn´t think you will. But it seems, that your memory is returning, or at least some of it."  
  
"I don´t understand dad. You... nobody told me about it. And I can´t really recall something like that..."  
  
"You suffered a serious head injury, Steve. After we found you, you were disoriented. For some reason, you were developing pneumony and shock... for a while I was really afraid that you wouldn´t make it."  
  
Steve shook his head in denial, when he was hit by a flasback. He was walking on the street, the sky clouded over in a promise of rain. His father once again didn´t come for him to school. Carol was returning with a friends, only Steve was left alone. He wasn´t in a mood for a ride with Mrs. Summers, so he rather took it on his own feet. The sky roared and tires screeched at his side. Before Steve could turn and see, what´s going on, the needle was stuck in his neck and hands grabbed him. The world went black, as he fell unconscious.  
  
Someone was pushing him down into the dark cold room, not caring for bumps or bruises. He heard angry words of two men, arguing about something, probably him. Then the doors closed with a thud and he was left alone, dazzled by the narcotic, he had been given, when all this began. The darkness was eating at him, the light-headedness making it impossible to concentrate or try to escape. Even if he tried, there wasn´t how to escape. He was in some cellar, without a window. Just one door, surely locked and guarded. The panic was quickly engrossing him, and Steve had a hard time to breath. The walls came down on him, noises, coming from around invoking the images of some nasty creatures, like rats or other beings. Steve dragged himself to the wall, where he crumpled down, and hugging his knees, began to rock.  
  
"Steve?!" the voice pulled him into the real world and Steve blinked. Confused, he looked at his father, finding himself on the floor, in the same position, as the boy in his vision.  
  
"Dad?"  
  
Mark was looking at him wide eyed, not quite realizing, what happened. One minute, Steve was talking with him, the next, he was backing away, saying something about darkness and rats, shivering and hugging himself in a false sense of protection.  
  
"You´re safe, Steve," Mark said and approached his son, who was now shaking his head in confusion.  
  
"I-I know, dad. It was, just..." His voice was hoarse and Steve coughed.  
  
"Hey, what do you say to a hot coffee? Or chocolate?"  
  
"That sounds good," answered Steve in a daze and stood up.  
  
Once in the kitchen, with a hot mug in his hands, sipping the warm liquid, both men began to relax.  
  
"What really happened, dad? And why don´t I remember it?"  
  
"You suffered concussion, with a temporal loss of memory. When you get better from that pneumony, we realized, that you don´t remember the whole kidnapping. Because it was so short after your mothers death, the psychiatrist advised us, not to tell you about it."  
  
"Psychiatrist? I don´t remember to talk with one,"  
  
"Oh, it was Dr. Newman. You know him, he was my friend and colleague. He specialized on PTSD and child psychology. He talked with you, while you were in the hospital."  
  
"Oh," Steve still didn´t remember all the details. Yes, he had a hazy recollection of a stay in the hospital, because of the pneumony, but never occured to him, that his dad didn´t told him about such a thing.  
  
"So, when I asked you, what happened, and how I got to the hospital, you lied to me?"  
  
"No!" retorted sharply Mark, then nodded. "Well, yes," admitted Mark, ashamed.  
  
"I don´t believe it. You lied to me!"  
  
"I´m sorry, Steve. It was a hard period, for all of us. I just couldn´t deal with everything and thought... well... if you don´t remember, it´s better. No nightmares, no bad memories. I wasn´t ready to tell you that time, and later there wasn´t a reason. You had a school to concencrate on, then there was Carol. After Vietnam, you had enough nightmares and I slowly forget." Steve was watching his father´s struggle with emotions and the anger slowly abated.  
  
"It´s okay, dad," he replied. "Maybe not something, I appreciate very much, but okay."  
Mark smiled in relief and hugged his son.  
  
"Well, care to tell me the history?"  
  
"Uhm... I can tell you only what we did, but... we don´t know, what happened to you." Steve shivered at the thoughts of what all could happen in four days. But then, it was past him. He should face it.  
  
"Tell me what you know, maybe I´ll remember something more."  
  
So Mark Sloan began to relate about the events thirty years old.  
  
"After your mother died, I hadn´t had much time for you. Carol immured herself and you passed the time with your friends, while I was at work. It wasn´t ideal, and I´m sorry for that, but then I needed the constant load of work, to stop thinking."  
  
"It doesn´t work like that, dad," added Steve.  
  
"Yes, I know that, now. But then..."  
  
"I should´ve picked you up, that day, Steve. But I forgot, because the ER was crushed by victims of a car crash. I don´t know, what happened. I just got the call from Carol, at seven. She was afraid to call sooner, not wnating to cause you trouble, but when you didn´t show up at the dinner time, she was afraid that something happened to you. Your school bag wasn´t there, so we assumed, that you didn´t even return. Before I could call the police, though, there was a knock on the door. Carol opened it, waiting for you. However, it was Jim."  
  
"Jim? As in..."  
  
"My brother."  
  
"...uncle Jim?" asked Steve unbelievingly.  
  
"Yes. And apparently, he knew, where you are."  
  
Mark remembered the moment, when Jim walked to the kitchen, sending Carol to her room. Mark was so buffled by his brothers appearance, that he didn´t even ask, what is he doing here. Only when Carol vanished in her room, did Mark come out from his stupor.  
  
"What are you doing here?" he asked, suddenly angry. Jim didn´t attend to his wife´s funeral, only calling three days after, apologizing, that he had some important assignment. it didn´t matter to Mark, though. What can be more important, than to support your family at the times like that? Now, when he was afraid for his son...  
  
"Where is Steve?" asked Mark sharply, unaware that he´s pushing his brother into the corner.  
  
"They took him." Three simple words, but Mark felt, like someone hit him with a crowbar.  
  
"What!" he barked. "Who took him? Why? And where?"  
  
"Calm down, Mark."  
"I won´t calm down, Jim! Why are you here? And where´s my son?!" Mark was yelling now, not noticing, that they wasn´t so alone.  
  
"Dad? Where´s Steve?" she asked in a thin voice, tears covering her face. Mark sobered and turned to her with a false smile.  
  
"It would be okay, Carol. Please, go to your room. I need to talk with uncle Jim."  
  
"It´s about Steve?" she asked again, nervously.  
  
"Yes. We need to talk, okay, Carol? Please, go. I´ll come up in a while."  
  
"Okay," she said and run up the stairs. Mark turned at his brother, hardly controlling his anger.  
  
"So? Where is Steve?"  
  
"I don´t know, Mark. I just get the call, that he´s been taken for a few days. If I will not attend to the trial, they will return him unharmed."  
  
So quietly told, yet so hard to bear. Mark slumped onto the chair and put his head into his hands.  
  
"Why, Jim? Why took him? Why not you, or..." or someone whom I don´t care for? thought Mark.  
  
"Because they couldn´t get to me. And the only people that matter to me, is you Mark, and your family."  
  
"Yeah, you did show this at the funeral," said sarcastically Mark.  
  
"I told you, that..."  
"You had a secret assignment. But that´s not about it, Jim. It´s about my son! Who took him and where?"  
  
"The last year I was working on the Dexter´s case. I was accepted in his gang, trying to get enough evidence to get Ian Dexter at the court. You surely heard about the case... in two days, there will be a trial, where I should testify about some of the practics used by the members of Dexter´s gang."  
  
"What charges did the procurator brought on them?"  
  
"Bribery, drug dealering, two murders and blackmail."  
  
"You´re the only one to testify?"  
  
"No. But I am the only witness in the case of two murders. The other things don´t trouble Dexter so much."  
  
"So, what can we do?" asked Mark, ready to leap into action, only to be stopped by Jim´s answer: "Wait. We can do nothing else, at this moment."  
  
"And you waited. How long?"  
  
"Till the telephonate. They called to our house and wanted to talk with Jim. Then they allowed us to talk with you - for a second."  
  
As Steve wanted to reply, he was hit by a flashback.  
  
"Pull him out, but, hey... get this on his head, first."  
  
"´kay, Chuck."  
  
"Idiot! Don´t call me by my name before the kid."  
  
"Sure, don´t sweat it. The kid don´t hear us."  
  
But Steve heard them an crawled to the fartest corner of his little cell. Not knowing, what the men could want, but not too keen to find out, either. The doors above him opened and the man walked down the stairs. Steve was shivering, and tried hard to stop a sob.  
  
"Hey, kid, where the hell are you?" asked the man and switched on a battery, succesfully blinding Steve in the process. "Ah, you hiding?" laughed the man and approached him. Steve flinched at the touch, but couldn´t back away, because there wasn´t any place.  
  
"No, please... let me go, please..."  
  
"Relax, kid. I´m not gonna hurt you. If you don´t ask for it, that´s it. Now, we have some thing to do. Put this at your eyes." Steve was handed a blindfold.  
  
"Now, if you do what you´re told, I won´t hurt you. Maybe I can bring there even some water and food, if you don´t play stupid."  
  
"Hey, you need some kicks to the ass down here?" yelled the voice from above and Steve flinched.  
  
"W-who are you? What do you want from me?" he asked, not at all so brave as he looked.  
  
"We just brought you here for a few days, till the trial´s over. Then you´ll be free, so don´t do something stupid. By the way, you can call me Bill. It´s not my real name, but it will do."  
  
"Y-you w-want something from my dad? We don´t have money..."  
  
"Not money, not your dad. Just your uncle snooped, where he shouldn´t. Now, come on, we don´t want my brother to get mad, don´t we?"  
  
Steve shook his head and slowly stumbled up the stairs. Blindfolded, he didn´t see a thing and it made him pretty dizzy. Not mentioning, that the last few hours he couldn´t get warm.  
  
Someone showed the phone to his hand.  
  
"Talk."  
  
"Steve?" It was his father, clearly worried.  
  
"D-dad?"  
  
"Are you all right? Did they hurt you?"  
  
"N-no, I´m okay. Just... afraid. Dad, I wan´t to go home, please..."  
  
Just then the phone was grabbed from his hand.  
  
"See, he´s okay. If you wan´t him to stay that way, you tell your brother, to very quickly suffer an amnesia. You do it."  
  
"Yes, I understand. Don´t harm my son."  
  
The man hung up and laughed.  
  
"Hear that, Bill? Don´t harm my son," he recited with a pleading tone. "Don´t squirm, kid. Now, we have to wait, just like your daddy. Bill, take him back. I need to call the chief."  
  
Bill took Steve´s hand and guided him down the stairs. Steve was trying hard to concentrate - he listened to any strange sounds, like a starting airplane, or a train, but there was nothing. The basement was clearly too isolated, that the sounds from outside didn´t penetrate there. Taking off the blindfold, Steve was left alone. Again. Hearing his father´s voice was somehow calming, even if the information, that he should stay here for another few days, scared him to death. The cellar he was confined to, was cold and damp. The floor was cemented, but he couldn´t find nothing soft or warm, he could sleep on. The doors above him opened, and Bill came in with supplies.  
  
"Here, my bro´ let me bring you something. A cannister with water, there´s four litres, it should do. Some sandwiches and food bars, so you wouldn´t starve."  
  
"You wan´t to leave me here?" asked Steve, his voice high from panic.  
  
"No, of course not. We´ll be here. I think, you discovered the sink, right? So, that´s all you need..."  
  
"Could you bring me some blanket, please? It´s cold here, and I have nothing to sleep on."  
Bill looked around in the light of the battery.  
  
"Hm, you´re right. We don´t want you to freeze, here, huh?"  
  
Steve didn´t see the grin on Bill´s face, but felt it.  
  
"I´ll see about that."  
  
Five minutes later, the doors opened and a blanket was throwed at Steve, the batterry wrapped in it. That was the last time, Steve saw Bill or his brother "Chuck".  
  
"They didn´t return for me," realized Steve, shocked by the memory. "They jus left me there, to freeze. Mark, too, was shocked. He didn´t know, what happened with his son in the meantime and didn´t know, what was worse. Be at the mercy of some kidnappers, or be left alone, in the dark, cold cellar.  
  
"Now I remember," muttered Steve and rubbed his throbbing temple, shivering from the remembered cold. "The blanket was thin, and I could only choose, if I want to lay on it, or rather wrap myself into it. Bill left me the battery, so I wasn´t so afraid of dark, but I didn´t dare to turn it on too often, because of the batteries. But it was too cold in there. I got to sleep, after Bill left. When I woke up - I don´t even know, when it was - I began to cough. I felt so lousy, and scared, because I thought, that I will die here, alone. After some time, it was easier to sleep and think about mom, than about the rescue. I soo wanted to be with her, that I almost stayed there."  
  
"But we didn´t find you in the cellar," spoke Mark suddenly.  
  
Another memory surfaced and Steve locked his sight in the bottom of the coffee mug.  
  
Another bout of coughing pulled him from the sleep and Steve sit up, because it was easier to breath like that. His chest hurt, like his head and the rest of the body. He knew, that something is seriously wrong with him - hell, he lived under the roof with a doctor, he could probably amde a diagnose, but he didn´t want to. If he could just shut his eyes and sleep, get rid of the aching body and be free of all the pain - physical and emotional alike.  
  
Seeing his mom again was so interesting and tempting, that he was imagining her voice, her soothing words and touch.  
  
"Steve... you must fight it," she told him and Steve shifted uncomfortable.  
  
"Mom?"  
  
"Fight it, boy. You must get up - open that doors."  
  
"I tried, mom. They´re locked..."  
  
"But you can open them."  
  
"How?"  
  
"The bag from Bill. Search through it, Steve. Please. Find here a clip. You have it?"  
  
Steve began to rummage throught the bag in a dreamless state. It didn´t matter, if he find the clip. His mom is here, everything will be allright. He yelped, when something sticked his finger. Bringing it to his mouth and slowly sucking the blood away, his left hand found the offending clip.  
"I have it," told Steve nobody particular.  
  
"Good. Now straighten it, and bend the end. That´s my boy."  
  
"Put it into the lock and turn."  
  
Steve slowly walked up the stairs, gasping for breath and leaning to the wall for support. Bright spots danced in his vision, but he was strangely detached from all of that. As if his body was acting on his own behalf.  
  
"It doesn´t work," he spoke, irritated.  
  
"It will, you must try longer. Please, Steve, do it for me."  
  
So he did. And the lock opened. Steve stood still, like a stone and listened. No sound was heard, beyond his rasping breath and the beating of his heart, which roared like a waterfall. Steve pushed the doors open, and weakly stepped into the hallway. The house was empty, as he thought so long ago. What should he do? Every step he took was accompanied by the harsh coughs, ripping at his chest and inhibiting his effort for freedom.  
  
"The phone," he heard the woman´s voice and felt the light touch on his cheeks. It was dark outside, he could see, so at least, his eyes didn´t hurt so much from the light. Trained for the dark, he spotted a phone few meters before him, on the wall. Blindly, he headed for it. He took three steps, but didn´t saw the one stair before him. He tripped and fell - his head hitting the floor with a sickening thud. The pain engulfed him and darkness claimed his consciousness.  
  
Someone was touching his neck. He couldn´t open his eyes, only listen to the sounds, which soon changed into voices.  
  
"Call an ambulance, quickly!"  
  
"Mark, how´s he?" asked another voice and Steve recognized his father and uncle Jim. Wanting to talk, but not able, he just groaned, which triggered the whole cycle of coughing and trying to take a breath.  
  
"Shh, Steve, everything´s all right. Don´t move. Try to take deep breaths. I´m here, you´ll be all right." Steve heard the worry and relief in Mark´s voice and felt his touch, probing for injuries, but soothing at the same time.  
  
"That bastards left him here, alone," muttered Jim furious at the sight of his nephews futile effort to breath. Finally there was a wailing of sirens, and Mark was pushed away. When one of the paramedics pulled up Steve´s eyelid to check his pupils, the light sent a jolt of pain through his head and he falled into sweat oblivion.  
  
"How did you find me there?" asked Steve and began rummaging through the fridge for sandwiches.  
  
"After the phonecall, Jim rushed from the house, telling me, that I should stay home and not talk with anyone."  
  
"And you listened to him?" asked Steve, grinning, because he couldn´t imagine his father just sitting and waiting.  
  
"Well, yeah," admitted Mark with a slight smile. "I had to take care of Carol, she was pretty unnerved. And I had nobody to turn at, not in this situation. I hadn´t want to risk your safety, Steve."  
  
"What did uncle Jim do?"  
  
"He contacted some of his friends - informators, I believe. He recognized one of the callers - some Charles or something..."  
  
"Chuck."  
  
"Yeah. He met with him once or twice, when he was undercover. Jim let out some informations, and one of his frineds contacted this Chuck. Of course, he didn´t know, what´s going on. There was still that trial."  
  
"Did uncle Jim testify?"  
  
"Yes, in reality, he did. We caught that Chuck person merely hours before the trial, with his friend Bill. Jim get to testify - even if I wasn´t very glad about it. Bill told us, that you´re safe, that nobody else is guarding you, but he didn´t know, where you are."  
  
"How´s that possible?" asked Steve dumbfounded.  
  
"Well, it seems, that Chuck didn´t really believe Bill. He rode at the house blindfolded, just like you. Oh, by the way, it was some cabin in the woods - some fifty miles from here."  
  
"So, even if I´d escaped, I would´ve get lost in the forest."  
  
"Probably."  
"And? Hod did you found me?"  
  
"After the trial was over, Chuck seemed to be more cooperative. Well, maybe it had something to do with Jim and that he was later treated for some broken ribs and concussion. He said it after two days in prison, though. It was the longest four day of my life, Steve."  
  
"Me, too, dad. At least, I know, why did uncle Jim stay with us for the Christmas and why was Carol so... hm, friendly with me, after I returned home. I just can´t imagine, how you could persuade her, to not tell me anything."  
  
"Well..." Mark grinned and Steve looked at him with anticipation.  
  
"You know, I really don´t remember."  
"Dad," Steve scowled at his father, but his frown faded, seeing the sparks in his eyes.  
  
"I think, I´ll try to get some more sleep," he yawned. "Tomorrow is a busy day. I must talk with some "people" and try to find, what happened with that boy. Meanwhile, I´ll thank whomever, who helped me those days survive."  
  
"Good night, son," answered Mark and thought about a call to his brother. It would be good, to see him again. Why, the Day of Thanksgiving is on the way.   
  
The End  
  
Author´s notes: Well, that was short. I´d like to say, this is my first Diagnosis Murder fan fiction. I know, that Mark´s brother is Stacy, but I don´t know, what he´s doing, and I needed a policeman to this story. So, there´s Jim. Uhm, I also don´t know, when did Mark´s wife die, so I improvised. Hope you don´t mind. Sorry for you, who like more Jesse or Amanda, or even Jack, that I didn´t put them here. Maybe next time.  
  
Disclaimer: I don´t own them, some other people do. If I´d some money from this, I would´ve wrote much more. But I don´t.  
  
Your comments are welcome at or you can also mail at leoraineseznam.cz My webpage is 


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